


A Little Fun Never Hurt Anyone

by roserelease



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rough Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 22:09:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roserelease/pseuds/roserelease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little late night rendezvous with one if his biggest rivals never hurt anyone. Much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Fun Never Hurt Anyone

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic was written for (and is dedicated to) a good friend of mine who was having a rough time. 
> 
> I imagine taking place a little later in Tim's career as Red Robin, sometime after the last published issue. As much as I dislike much of what happened to Tim during the later years of the DCU continuity, I can't lie and say that I'm not intrigued by some of the questions that were raised during his run as RR, namely Tim's concerns over where his vigilante career may go in the future because of all he's experienced and how those experiences have changed him. (I just wish RR hadn't ended on _that_ specific note.) So I thought I'd explore a side of that with this fic.
> 
> This was also my first DCU/Batman fanfic ever, so I apologize if the characterization seems off or a little lacking.

Tim catches onto his "visitor's" presence" only seconds before said visitor is able to lunge at him. Diving out of the way, Tim rolls across the gravelly rooftop that he had just arrived to only a minute before. At the end of his roll he flies back up and onto his feet without fail, his bō staff already out and ready in his hand. His mouth tastes like copper, blood from the small cut of his teeth when they accidentally collided with his lower lip. He waits, scanning the area for even the slightest bit of movement. Or a trail left behind from his "guest." There’s nothing but the faint whistle of wind in his ears, the faraway screech of a car turning a corner too quickly a couple of blocks away. Then laughter comes at him from all around, closer than Tim anticipated. He curses his temporary carelessness.

“Hello again, Little Red. Been working on your roll?”

Tim says nothing. Keeping his feet planted firmly on the ground, he continues to scan every nook and cranny of the rooftop, searching and finding nothing.

Of course. Tim spins around, swinging his bō staff with full force. It contacts and stops in mid-swing. A gloved hand grips the center of it, both it and the staff shaking from the equal force put behind them. The being the hand belongs to, the man currently staring down at Tim through the lens of a crimson domino mask, smiles.

“Red Hood,” Tim says flatly, swallowing back the sudden dryness in his mouth. “Back for another round?”

The Red Hood laughs again, huskier this time. A knowing laugh meant for its only audience member. Tim shudders. 

“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” the Red Hood replies in voice that sounds nonchalant, though Tim knows better. If there's any lesson he's learned the hard way, it's that you never underestimate a former Robin.

With a seemingly effortless shove, the Red Hood forces the bō staff down to hip-level and leans in close, his hot breath suddenly ghosting over Tim’s lips and nose, too familiar for the liking of the logical part of his brain.

“I hope you’ve been practicing more than you ‘rolls.’” Tim doesn’t need to take off the Red Hood’s mask to know that the others eyes were just glowing with amusement. “But knowing you, all you’ve been doing is perfecting your techniques. Such a workaholic. You should really cut back a little and relax.”

Before Tim can respond, the Red Hood’s lips crush themselves against his and steal his breath away.

This isn’t the first time he’s tasted the other vigilante’s lips before, but it still holds a particular strangeness to it, an unfamiliarity that rolls through Tim’s senses and sends them reeling. The loud clang of his bō staff falling by his feet barely registers to his distracted mind. With his newly freed hands, Tim grips the Red Hood’s shoulders for all he's worth and refuses to let the other budge or the pace of this dangerous dance. Not like the first time, when it had the uncanny feel of a mentor leading the protégé through a new skill. He doesn't even know how all of this started, just that it did, and neither one of them had much incentive to stop. 

A soft and surprising groan is pulled out of the back of the Red Hood’s throat. He murmurs against Tim’s lips, “Someone’s in an eager mood tonight. Does Little Red think he gets to top tonight?”

Instead of bothering with words, Tim merely digs his fingertips deeper into the other’s shoulders, pulling at the thick leather of his jacket. He has only so much patrol time left and there is no way he’s going to waste it on trivialities. Get in, get out. This was the only way this could happen. This whole thing is a bad idea, possibly the worst he's ever been involved in, but he's foolish enough to do it anyway, not smart enough to deny himself something he knows can't be good for him. The less he lets himself indulge, the better for both of them. The Red Hood knows this too, there's no way that he doesn't. Yet he still always insists on time-consuming conversations, if his terrible jokes and mockery can be considered “conversational.” The Red Hood is chatty, but always in a way that doesn’t so much as push Tim’s buttons as stab persistently at them.

Tim gives the Red Hood only a sweet second of his tongue outlining the loose seam of the other’s mouth before he forcefully plunges in, stealing quick touches and even a poorly hidden gasp, enough touch and sound to arouse and embolden Tim enough force his leg in-between the Red Hood’s and shift it upwards.

The Red Hood pulls back with a slight panting. “Not so fast, Little Red.”

A gloved hand smacks Tim’s ass, squeezing ruthlessly. Tim can feel sharp fingers dig into the side of his cheek, just teasing the top of his inner thigh. He bites his lip.

“I won’t roll over and take it that easily,” the Red Hood coos in Tim’s ear. “You’re gonna have to work for it more than that.”

With a low and impatient growl, Tim shoves the Red Hood back and slightly to the side, taking the older vigilante by surprise. They collide onto the rooftop and roll, struggling to dominate the other. Eventually Tim holds his position over the other, hands holding the Red Hood’s wrists up over his head in a firm and hopefully unbreakable grip. He pants slightly from his efforts, his arousal pressing impatiently against the crotch of his jock-strap and tights. And it most certainly didn’t help that he is straddling the other’s hips, where he can easily find a cheap, quick release if he feels so inclined.

Maybe that was why the Red Hood looks so content lying beneath Tim, not once attempting to escape his current position. In the end, Tim is in no less more control than before. Their positions have simply just been rearranged.

“Yup, you’re definitely in an eager mood tonight. Been too long since the last time, hasn’t it? My bad. I got a little busy. So,” the Red Hood rolls his hips, forcing Tim’s jaw to drop slightly and his eyes to flutter, “you gonna ride me all night long, Little Red?”

Tim’s face flushes red beneath his Red Robin cowl. “Don‘t be crude. And it’s half past four in the morning, hardly night at all.”

“It’s a figure of speech,” the Red Hood replies without missing a beat. He then snaps his hips forward again, eliciting another gasp out of Tim. “You should really loosen up a little. Not everything has to be so logical.”

Tim doesn’t respond, not because he disagrees – a stubborn part of him does – but because of how aware he is of that fact. If everything were logical, then this wouldn’t be happening, wouldn’t have happened the first couple of times. He wouldn’t want the Red Hood as badly as he did. There would be no long, pent-up nights where his hands always seem to find their way into his pants, no fantasies that threaten to distract and disarm him whenever their paths crossed. Tim knew too well how utterly irrational all of this was. You simply don’t lust after someone who has only caused you and the people closest to you grief, time and again. You just don’t.

Yet here he is, and there was nothing his mind could do about it. He could only cling desperately to these too rare and too brief moments, and temporarily allow himself to grasp to hope the same way he did the Red Hood’s when they were alone. The hope that this could eventually be rationalized. Somehow.

“Are you going to move, or do I have to take over again?”

Rousing himself from his thoughts, Tim lowers his head down to the Red Hood’s ear. His breath ghosts over the other’s fleshy shell when he murmurs, “When I’m finished with you, you’ll be lucky if you can walk straight.”

The Red Hood chuckles darkly. “Little Red, I never walked ‘straight’ to begin with.” With that, he slowly presses his hips against Tim’s and grinds their clothed arousals. “ _Try_ me.”

Growling, Tim claims the Red Hood’s lips in a hard, bruising kiss, pulling at the soft flesh with quick nips of his teeth. The faint coppery taste of blood lightly graces his senses, but he withholds the sigh that builds inside of him. Something about the blood and harshness helps justify this. This is all so irrational, nonsensical, but _damn_ is it ever satisfying.

Emboldened, Tim begins to steadily roll his hips against the Red Hood’s, creating a steady rhythm that the other easily slips into. Tim finally lets his pent-up sigh free. He’s aware of how obvious it is that he’s into this, how intensely his body is flowing with the motion, but he doesn’t care. It was embarrassing the first time to the point where he almost didn’t come, but now it’s a liberating feeling, an act that makes him feel almost stir-crazy inside his own body if he doesn’t experience it almost regularly.

A sudden shudder erupts in his muscles. Tim pulls back, panting, hot, flushed, and needing more. “Your pants. Take them off.”

The Red Hood licks his lips and smirks up at his replacement. “Would love to, if I had my hands … ”

He need not say more. Tim frees his hands in an instant, but instead of waiting for the other to act, Tim’s already at the belt and zipper of the Red Hood’s pants. The clink of metal is loud and decisive in Tim’s ears; the sound of no return. Tim isn’t sure if he could go back if he could.

Once the other vigilante’s thick, heavy cock is free and pressing eagerly into Tim’s gloved hands, he discovers the inevitable answer: Not in a million years.

“Are you gonna sit there and marvel at it all day? Because I can think of several things better things you could put those gaping lips to use for.”

The comment should irk him, but Tim just smirks. Without warning, he grabs the hot shaft of the Red Hood’s freshly exposed erection and gives it good, hard yank. The vigilante below him only just stifles a yelp that quickly evolves into a loud chortling.

“That’s it. You know just how I like it, don’tcha, Little Red?”

Another rough tug, followed by a smooth, feather-light stroke, the sort he knows agitates the other beyond words.

“Keep mocking me and I won’t let you come.”

“Mmn.” The Red Hood doesn’t seem to care, not with the consistent strokes that pull the foreskin of his penis up and down in smooth glides. “Right back at ya.”

The sound of the Red Hood’s moan sends heat shooting straight to Tim’s arousal. Swallowing back the sudden dryness in his throat, Tim withdraws his hand and begins working at the many clasps of his utility belts, all the while keeping his eyes trained on the panting vigilante beneath him.

“We’ll see about that.”

The Red Hood says nothing, his smirk gone, replaced by a carefully blank expression. His gaze lowers to watch Tim release himself from his tights as they are pushed down mid-thigh. Cold air sweeps across his flesh. Without hesitation, the Red Hood takes both himself and Tim’s erection in his gloved hand, presses and squeezes them together in a firm, pleasant grip.

Tim inhales, eyes fluttering. “ _Uhn._ ”

The Red Hood presses a gloved thumb into the slit of Tim’s cock, forcing his hips to jerk. “I heard that.”

The next sound that rips its way out of Tim is an indignant growl. “Oh, _whatever._ ”

“Oh, somebody wants it.” His hands cover Tim’s, gently squeezing them before pulling them forward and forcing his fingers to wrap as best they can around both of their cocks. “Now do something before I decide you’re taking too long, and I have to take whatever semblance of control you think you have away from you again.”

“Shu—Oh. Ohhh … ” Tim’s hips buck, anxious for friction. His hands reflexively grip tightly around them both, but the sliver of sanity left in him forces his hands to relax their grip, lest it all end far too soon. Just because there isn’t enough time post-patrol to linger on a few things here and there didn’t mean he wants things to end prematurely.

He sucks in air with a hiss, then starts a light, steady pace. He does his best to keep his pants under control, though they still sound loud and needy in his own ears.

The Red Hood’s hands fall off his and find their way to Tim’s hips, where they lock him firmly into place. His lips purse together as he concentrates, his breaths coming in long and controlled through his nose. The expression on his face appears to be content, if not a little tense.

The sight of the older vigilante in such a state makes Tim trip in his pace for a fraction of a second, but once it’s regained, his strokes become harder, his fingers digging deep into the Red Hood’s sides. A shiver races up Tim’s spine and urges a soft, near-silent whine from him.

The Red Hood shudders underneath him. His voice is breathy when he speaks. “Cute.” Before Tim has a chance to realize what’s happening, much less retaliate, the older vigilante is surging upwards into a sitting position, the gravel of the rooftop crunching from the harsh movement. The hands that held his hips slide down to his thighs, palms flat and fingers curving over the sides.

Tim brow furrows at the sudden caresses. “What are you … ”

With a gentle push The Red Hood forces Tim’s thighs apart, then pulls them up, hauling Tim – and his cock – flush onto his lap. Hands shoot up to grip the Red Hood’s shoulder, needing the contact to help keep himself from falling backwards and leaving himself entirely open and vulnerable. The Red Hood’s thick cock greets Tim’s as they press together, and Tim bucks as pleasure surges through him like an electric shock.

Before he can stop himself he’s already rutting against the older vigilante. Hands on his thighs or none, nothing can slow or control him.

“ _U-Uhnn!_ Y-Yes ...”

A hand teases the collar of Tim’s costume, fingers just lightly dipping inside and contacting skin. Those fingers suddenly pull the collar down, exposing his neck. The Red Hood then drops his head onto Tim’s shoulder and without warning bites deeply down onto the soft flesh, tearing a grunt from deep within Tim’s throat. The pain is sharp and stabbing, even after a soft tongue laps at the flesh wound and soothes the edge of it if not a little.

Tim forces himself to slow his hips and grinds slow and hard against the Red Hood’s cock. In this new position, he can easily smell the particularly heady scent of maleness and arousal. Not long ago the smell would have been strange to him, jarring and intimidating at best, but now it serves as a reminder that this really _is_ happening, that he’s fucking and being fucked; it’s a reminder that he always hesitates to wash off of his skin and out of his costume.

Tim’s head falls back, eyes nearly rolling up in his head. He can’t take much more of this. “Oh, God.”

The Red Hood groans against Tim’s neck. “You know how good you look like this? Your skin looks all red and your lips so plump looking. I think you were _made_ to be fucked.”

Quickly licking his lips, Tim grunts out, “You seriously expect me to come up with a witty response when we’re right in the middle?”

The look the Red Hood gives Tim heats his very blood, and the way he brings a hand to his lips and bites the tip of his finger, and tugs – oh God, the way he tugs – the glove off his hand. Tim can’t help the moan that escapes him.

“It was worth a try, Little Red.”

The same moan heightens in strength and volume when that now bare hand snakes its way down Tim’s back, over the curve of his exposed ass, and pushes between the globes of flesh, pushes until they find their destination. Gently, they rub the puckered opening.

“Ah! Nnng.” Tim grits his teeth and curses himself for neglecting to bring certain necessities. He’s simultaneously relieved and saddened that the finger teasing him never pushes past the ring of muscle. He can feel the muscle clenching at the slightest provocation of the Red Hood's fingers, expecting more with each brush, yet left wanting each time. Regardless, he pushes down against the potential intruder. “M-More. Harder.”

“Heh. Whatever you say, Little Red. But first,” his finger trails away, flutters along the skin around the opening, “I want you to say my name.”

Something inside Tim jolts. “W-Why?”

“Because you never say it.”

Tim suppresses a whine. Everything throbs and cries for a long awaited release, but of course the Red Hood insists on teasing him as much as he can before their time together comes to its unavoidable end. “You never say _my_ name.”

“Only because you never say mine.”

Tim groans, and not for the reasons he wants. “I don’t have time fo—”

The Red Hood’s finger presses roughly against Tim’s opening, suggesting penetration - Tim's breath hitches - before retreating, begging him to differ otherwise. Tim’s entire body tenses, nearly there, just nearly, but just as quickly the finger is gone and Tim is left wanting. He barely bites back a whine. 

“You were saying?”

“ _Cheater._ ”

“The very best.” Light, teasing strokes over the oversensitive nerves. Hardly touching, nowhere near close to being enough. “I’m waiting.”

“F-Fine!” Tim lowers his voice to barely a whisper. “Jason.”

A single, hard stroke. “I’m sorry, did you say something? Mind repeating yourself?”

“Mmmmph, J-Jason!”

The Red Hood – _Jason_ – smirks too wildly for Tim’s liking. “Thatta boy.” Jason’s finger returns to Tim’s opening and begins to stroke the clenching muscles in hard, circular patterns. “Brace yourself, now.”

Tim squeezes his eyes shut and feels his body beginning to tense. It’s terrible how good it feels, terrible how he can’t stop moaning Jason’s name now, how he’s suddenly clung to the others name as if it were the only thing that made sense in the here and now, the only thing that could keep him sane from the intense wave of pleasure he can feel approaching him. He’s close, _so_ close, he can’t wait anymore.

Knees dig into the gravel for support as Tim lifts himself a little, simultaneously crushing his erection against Jason’s and giving himself more leverage to move more easily against Jason’s fingers. The combination leaves his mouth hanging open and every juncture of his body extremely hot and sweaty from exertion. His lower abdomen and balls clench almost painfully.

“This is it. Oh, God, yes, Jason, it’s coming, _Jason I’m coming,_ ” Tim moans shamelessly, bites his lower lip almost to the point of tearing. His body is jerking now, he couldn’t stop thrusting even now if he wanted to. Part of him is aware of how loud he is now, but he can’t bring himself to care. Screw anyone who might be able to hear them, he’s needed this all week, and damn if he’s not going to go all-out on this now.

“That’s it,” Jason moans in his ear, so close he can somehow almost feel his voice, “Come for me, do it, give me everything you’ve got.”

“O-Oh, _Ja_ – … !” His insides erupt, seemingly every muscle shuddering in unison. The sweet moment finally arrives, and Tim rides every wave of it eagerly until he’s left limp and panting, and only sitting up because Jason’s arms slide up his back and prevent him from falling backwards in exhaustion.

But even in this grand moment Tim doesn’t let himself forget about Jason and his need. Seconds later Tim wraps a hand tightly around Jason’s cock, gloved thumb smearing precome all over the red and irritated head, and pumps the hard shaft for all its worth. It’s not long before Jason too grunts, mumbles something that almost sounds like English but could just be meaningless orgasm-related garble, and comes hard all over Tim’s hand and clothed abdomen. In his post-orgasm haze, Tim wonders why he didn’t think to at least shove his costume up enough to prevent such a mess.

They remain in each other’s arms for a few minutes, allowing each other to slowly come down from their high. Jason lets out a satisfied sigh before glancing down at his plain white t-shirt and leather jacket, chuckling softly at the mess Tim left all over both of them.

He glances back up at Tim, his smile too soft for Tim’s liking. “Was that so bad?”

Tim swallows the sudden lump forming in his throat. Jason’s shouldn’t make his chest constrict the way it does, much less suck the breath right out of him. But he can’t afford to think about that. Not right now. He’ll analyze this all later, when it’s temporarily back to his hand and fantasies.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Tim replies in lieu of answering.

Jason chuckles before complying. “As you wish, Timothy.”


End file.
